


Ninja Star

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, NSFW, Shameless Love, Teenage Yevgeny, Top Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 17:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Pretend that everything was different and that Ian and Mickey got to have the life they deserved and then make it a bit messy because ... well ... fuckin' Gallavich, right?A quick look at Yevgeny, Ian and Mickey living a 'normal' family life and everything that entails xxxx





	Ninja Star

"I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.”

Mickey’s eyes were large and dark with anger and the rough tone of his voice held no trace of its usual humour. It reminded Ian of the seventeen-year-old thug whom he had fallen for all those years ago and despite the situation, he couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Hold still…”

Ian caught Mickey’s wrist and mopped the fresh trickle of blood that filled the lines of his palm with his free hand.

“Who stashes a damn ninja star in their fuckin’ pillow? God damned psycho.”

“You used to sleep with a gun under your pillow and flick knife in your pocket.”

Ian said mildly, ignoring the tight-lipped scowl the comment earned him.

“Not when I was fuckin’ twelve … ow! Shit! Are you fuckin’ trying to piss me off more than I already am? If so keep fuckin’ prodding it like that.”

Mickey set his teeth firmly in his lip and closed his eyes as Ian clucked his tongue against his teeth impatiently.

“No, I’m trying to stop you getting an infection. I don’t know why Yev has a ninja star but I’ll bet he doesn’t wash it often.”

“Little bastard. He’s fucking … grounded or some shit!”

Ian’s lip trembled with the urge to laugh but he fought it with all his might. Mickey watched Ian’s struggle with his eyebrows raised, mentally daring his husband to let out a single damned chortle.

“Grounded is fair. What were you doing in his room anyway?”

“Svet thinks he’s smoking. Asked me to look.”

“Find any cigarettes?”

“Nah.”

Mickey shook his head and winced as Ian put the final few stitches in the cut that ran between his thumb and forefinger.

They heard the front door slam and Yevgeny came bounding into the kitchen to grab a soda and a bag of chips, his usual routine after school. He skidded to a halt when he saw both his fathers sat at the table, gaze flicking between his Pop’s bloody palm and the ninja star beside it, his wide-eyed expression of confusion turning to guilty panic.

“Oh! Shit!”

“Oh shit is fucking right …”

Mickey started to stand up but Ian put a hand on his shoulder pushing him back down with a look that clearly said ‘Don’t start’ before turning to Yevgeny.

“Yev, you want to explain why you have this?”

“Uncle Carl gave it to me for helping him out the other day.”

“With what? Some fuckin’ Bruce Lee shit?”

Mickey’s voice was incredulous as he looked round his husband’s leg to glare at his son.

“No! And why were you in my room anyway?”

Yev shot back with a striking blue glare of his own. Ian rolled his eyes upwards and took a deep breath in preparation for a double Milkovich meltdown.

“Are you fuckin’ serious? You think you want to give me fuckin’ attitude right now?”

“Mickey …”

Ian opened his eyes wide and held up his hands to try to show neutrality, his tone urging diplomacy, but Mickey was beyond tested and in no mood to be diplomatic.

“Don’t fuckin’ ‘Mickey’ me, like I’m being the asshole here!”

Yev had been thumbing his lip nervously but with Ian seeming to side with him just a little he decided to give offence a go over defence.

“You go through other people’s shit without asking what do you think is gonna …”

“Finish that sentence, Yevgeny. I fucking dare you!”

Mickey stood up and took a menacing step toward his son who (whilst cocky and full of hubris like most twelve year olds, was not in actually stupid) ducked quickly behind his Dad - thoughts of offence over defence quickly going out of the window.

Ian wrapped a hand in Yevgeny’s collar to stop the cat and mouse chase and put his other hand on his husband’s chest with a warning look. Mickey twitched his head to the left a gesture that gave Ian butterflies despite the crackling atmosphere in the room. He loved it when Mickey got fired up and went all barrel-chested, alpha male. It was fucking hot no matter the situation and for a moment he considered sending Yev out for a while but changed his mind pretty quickly. If this didn’t get sorted now, they’d only have to go through it all again later.

“Yevgeny, don’t be a fucking smartass. And you don’t get to have weapons in your room - you know that.”

“Pop lets me!”

“No he doesn’t.”

Ian frowned at his step-son before noticing Mickey awkwardly tonguing his bottom lip and looking at the kitchen table with a sudden intense interest. 

“Are you kidding me? You let him?”

Ian asked and if he hadn’t been holding a Milkovich in each, he would most likely have buried his face in his hands.

“Like, a couple of knives and a bat. It’s fuckin’ South Side, Ian.”

“And that gun …”

Yev offered helpfully and Mickey rolled his eyes in frustration

“I told you not to mention that, man.”

“Sorry Pop.”

Yev grimaced, remembering belatedly that he had in fact been pretty clear that Dad did not need to know about the handgun, even unloaded as it was.

“Our twelve year old does not have a damned gun in his room.”

Ian closed his eyes, striving for patience and failing.

“Alright, look I know you’re pissed but can we focus on the fuckin’ weapon that I didn’t know about and then we can fight about the ones that I did, huh?”

Mickey held up his bloody hand in illustration of his point and Ian nodded curtly once. The atmosphere was still tense but the shift in accountability and trouble had lessened it slightly and Ian removed his hand from Mickey’s chest.

“Your Mom thinks you’re smoking and asked me to check your room for cigarettes. Why the fuck have you got a fuckin’ ninja star in your pillow?”

“So you wouldn’t find it.”

Yev raised his eyebrows as if this was painfully obvious and Mickey’s lip twitched ever so slightly

“One, that is a stupid place to hide shit, two this whole weapons thing only works if I know what you got. If I don’t know then I can’t get rid of it if the cops come knocking when you’re at school.”

“Yeah but …”

“Did I fuckin’ ask for an excuse? Go and get the Ruger.”

Mickey watched Yev go and held up a stilling hand to Ian.

“Let me deal with his shit first, okay?”

“I’m pissed, Mick.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nodded and lit a smoke as Yevgeny came back into the room, holding the Ruger reverently.

“Thank you. Give it here.”

Mickey took the firearm and tucked it in the back of his pants.

“Maybe you can get it back in a couple months if you show me you can be a bit more fuckin’ mature about things.”

“What the fuck! Pop that’s not fair!”

Yev scowled and turned to Ian

“Dad! Tell him!”

“You really think I’m going to encourage him to let you have a gun?”

Yevgeny pursed his lips but knew that it was over and after glaring at them for a moment longer, let out a long sigh and shrugged.

“Sorry about your hand.”

“Yeah. Well.”

Mickey looked it and frowned. Now that the shock had worn off he wasn’t actually that annoyed. It wasn’t really Yev’s fault and it wasn’t like Mickey had any plans to become a fuckin’ hand model. One more scar to add to his collection wasn’t a big deal. He was pissed about the kid hiding stuff though.

“I ain’t gonna be able to take out the trash for a couple of weeks now, so I guess that’s gonna be on you.”

“You got two hands …”

Yev sulked, but kept his voice low enough that his fathers only just caught it and Mickey grinned despite himself

“What was that, buddy? Wanna repeat it and see what happens? Or you can get your soda and fuck off on your bike til dinner. Your call.”

Yev stomped over to the fridge, took a soda and exited, narrowly resisting the urge to flip the bird on his way out.

Mickey shook his head and turned to Ian, still grinning

“Reckon I’ll get on that show about how to be a parent?”

“No. I think you might get on a show about parents who wake up to find their kid accidently blew their fucking head off.”

“There’s a show about that? Damn!”

Mickey raised one eyebrow in surprise and crossed to the fridge, taking a couple of beers out and cracking the cap off the first one on the counter with practiced ease. 

Ian was usually the peacemaker, the calm in the storm, he had been since Yevgeny turned three and they realised that his temper was capable of rivalling Mickey’s own but at that moment, he could quite happily have thrown a chair across the room or throttled his husband, maybe both.

“What the fuck, Mick? Seriously! A gun? He’s a kid!”

“Relax. Its not loaded. He just wanted to practice with it in the mirror I think.”

“How hard do you think it would be to find a spare bullet in this house?”

Ian scolded, taking the beer out of Mickey’s uninjured hand and putting it on the side, demanding his full attention.

“Jesus! You nag me more than you nag him! Who’s the kid?”

Mickey reached for the bottle and Ian snatched it out of reach, sticking his chin out pugnaciously.

“Honestly, I don’t know sometimes.”

Mickey bit the inside of his cheeks lightly and narrowed his eyes at Ian. For a moment the potential for a proper row hung in the air and then Mickey threw up his hands and pulled the gun out of his pants, handing it over to Ian, handle first.

“Fine, you decide when he can have it back but I gotta ask you a question.”

“What?”

Ian took the handgun and glanced to be sure that the safety was on, his mind still on stray bullets.

“Are you gonna spank me?”

Ian’s startled gaze snapped to Mickey who kept his face straight for the count of two heartbeats and then burst out laughing. Ian felt a smile creeping across his own face and rolled his eyes in exasperation

“Fuck off!”

“Yeah? Cause I know we don’t hit each other in this house, but you know, I broke all the rules and shit … You might make a fuckin’ example of me …”

Mickey teased, stepping in close and wrapping his good arm around Ian’s waist, feigning a stomach punch which Ian parried, shoving him playfully.

“You’re a dick.”

“You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

“Serve you fucking right if I did beat your ass.”

“Pound it instead?”

Mickey looked up and nudged his nose against Ian’s chin in invitation. Ian obligingly leant down and kissed him, a little chastely at first but as their lips met, he felt the tip of Mickey’s tongue gently touch his mouth and the last of his irritation melted away.

He opened his eyes and saw the blur of twin blue orbs less than an inch from his own, watching him.

“Thank you for patching me up.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Sorry I gave our kid a Ruger.”

“Your apologies are always for the weirdest things.”

Ian grinned and Mickey shrugged

“At least I make ‘em.”

Ian let his hands slip down Mickey’s back, sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans and hooking his thumbs into the belt loops.

“How’s your hand?”

“Hurts like a bitch.”

Mickey laughed and peered down at it dispassionately.

“You want me to use my mouth instead?”

“Nah. It’ll be fine.”

Mickey stepped back and cocked his head toward the stairs with a look of invitation that made Ian’s breath come up short with want and need.

“Get upstairs.”

His voice was deeper than usual and he saw the effect that subtle change had on Mickey. They stared at each other for a moment and then Ian was across the room, shedding Mickey’s clothes and his own with a kind of gentle ferocity that came naturally to a man of his size. Mickey backed up to the table and was about to lie back when Ian made a noise of alarm and jerked him upright

“Fuck! What?”

“That.”

Ian laughed, nodding to the little sharp disc of metal which Mickey’s ass had nearly landed on.

“Fuck this fucking thing!”

Mickey glared at it and carefully shoved it away with the tip of his finger, giving it a disapproving stare before licking his lip and turning back to Ian.

“I’m putting it in the trash.”

“Good.”

Ian smiled and lifted Mickey onto the table, laying him gently back and covering him with his own body.

“I don’t mind you having scars but I don’t want you having many more.”

“You don’t mind ‘em, huh?”

“No. They’re just part of you. Like this one …”

Ian kissed the knotted white skin of an old knife wound on Mickey’s shoulder

“…and this one.”

His tongue flicked at a cigarette burn on Mickey’s rib

“…This one.”

A tiny star of white against the rest of the pale skin of Mickey’s hip, his husband’s hands tangling in the copper lengths of his hair.

“Should think fuckin’ not! You gave me that one. Damn vampire!”

Ian grinned and trailed his tongue over the tiny ancient bite mark, kissing across the soft mound of pubic hair before taking Mickey’s cock into his mouth.

“Get inside me, Gallagher.”

Mickey half sat up and Ian obligingly stood and lifted Mickey’s legs onto his shoulders.

“You know, I think our best sex always happens when one of us is bleeding.”

Ian drummed his fingers against Mickey’s thighs thoughtfully and cocked his head to the side considering.

“You think? How about less chit-chat and let’s fuckin’ find out.”

Ian took a firmer grip and smiled a small, crooked smile that he often got in the anticipation of making love to Mickey.

“You got it.”

*

By the time Yevgeny got back that evening, his Pop was in much better spirits and even ruffled his hair as he walked by, as close as Yev was likely to get to being told all was forgiven.

“Dad says he’ll take you out to the shooting range in a couple weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, reckons if you want to learn you better learn right.”

“Is he a better shot than you?”

Yev asked, falling into his routine of helping pour drinks and peering over his Pop’s shoulder to see what was cooking. He would usually have set the table too, but it was unusually clear and spotlessly clean. He guessed from the patch up of Pop's hand.

“Yeah but don’t tell him I admit it or I’ll break your legs.”

Mickey winked at his son who grinned back and raised his middle finger affectionately

“Fuck you.”

“Good man.”

Mickey said, raising his beer bottle in toast.


End file.
